“I want to get up and walk; help me,” was the reply, or rather command; and the big fellow obeyed at once, taking one side, Dean the other, and between them the poor lad took a few steps; and then his head sank sideways while he submitted to being laid back on his leafy couch, breathing hard and closing his eyes.
The next day he was as insistent as before.
“I want to walk. I must grow strong,” he said, sternly now. “Help me.”
Another day passed, and Dean, who had left his cousin asleep while he went out to help the men to fetch water, returned to camp to look about with startled eyes, for Mark’s couch was vacant, and Dean’s first thought was that, fancying he had gained enough strength, he had started off alone.
Reproaching himself with what he looked upon as neglect of his cousin, he hurried off amongst the trees, searching in the direction that he thought it probable Mark would have taken.
“I’m sure he can’t have gone far,” he said to himself; and so it proved, for before long he caught sight of him.
Mark, who did not hear him come up, was kneeling by a great trunk, his clasped hands resting upon the buttress, his brow bent, and his lips moving rapidly.
Dean, with the nerves of his face twitching, crept silently up to where he could touch his cousin, and then resting his own hands upon those of Mark, he too bent down, and the next minute his lips were also moving.
At last Mark spoke.
“Oh, Dean,” he said, “a few minutes ago I thought that all was over. But oh, what a coward I have been, when perhaps all the time the poor dad, a prisoner, is comforting himself with the hope that we shall go and rescue him!”